


an arrow, a dart, a flare in the dark

by lady_peony



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Identity Porn, M/M, Sexual Content, a splash of hurt comfort for flavor, akechi: i hate to bang and run but--, joker: not if i do it first lmao, no powers!Akechi Goro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony
Summary: Hair, dark. Eyes, grey. He makes a poetic picture, a penumbral figure shining in the dark, like a crystal set in deep velvet. His white mask brings out the gleam of his eyes, magnetizes Goro's gaze to him.He's masked, yes, and oddly dressed, but he looks likely as human as Goro is.The boy stepped closer to Goro, one red-gloved hand held out towards him, as if to steady him by the shoulder."Are you all right?" the boy said.(Or—Goro has no powers, no Persona. This doesn't stop him from meeting Joker.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 22
Kudos: 282
Collections: 21 plus server halloween event





	an arrow, a dart, a flare in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casimir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casimir/gifts).



> +have you read the tag and ratings?? please read the tag and ratings  
> +akira would be about 16-17 in this au and goro would be 17-18  
> +yes they have sex in this  
> +the rating is really dancing between the line of M and E, but chose E to be on the safer side  
> +but hey it's nsfw for sure
> 
> +this is a halloween shuake server treat fic for Casimir, who requested:  
>  _No powers! Goro au, ends up in the Metaverse via shenanigans. Very attracted to Joker's displays of power. NSFW_
> 
> i hope u enjoy this treat casimir :3

i.

"Have you heard? They say that artist, you know the one that was a special guest of that museum—"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah—Madarame, right? How could _any_ seasoned critic have missed what he was doing? So much for their so-called refined taste and experienced eyes—"

Akechi Goro neatly sidestepped the two other students who pass by in navy blue uniforms. His own school bag swung with the movement in his hands—fashioned of dark brown leather, its shape similar to a briefcase when seen from the distance.

The clamor of humming advertisements, chirping traffic lights, and brisk footsteps against concrete all rushed over his ears like a wave.

Sae had waved off his goodbye greeting from the office, her gaze concentrated at the papers on her desk, hairpin-neat stacks at least two heads high. He had offered to stay late, but she had only narrowed her eyes at him, reminded him curtly but not unkindly about the importance of focusing on studies on a weeknight. 

_"I don't expect to be assigned to take charge of that case specifically, Akechi-kun, but if you're curious, you can wait until the weekend to go over the records the department is putting together of the Madarame case."_

So Goro had just smiled, and nodded. Left with a cordial farewell. 

Ah, he had no reason to be too disappointed. She had treated him to sushi at least two weeks ago, after all.

Goro allowed his steps to carry him over the sidewalk by instinct, glad that the early heat of June wasn't too overpowering yet. 

Today was—Thursday wasn't it? Which meant the half-priced bentos at the conbini now would likely be the grilled salmon box, perhaps accompanied by the usual kelp salad, cucumber pickles, and a single croquette on the side. It was one of the ones he preferred over the others, since it was hard to expect crispy katsu from a microwaved meal.

He crossed a block and made a left turn, expecting to hear the courteous bell-chime of the glass doors as they opened into the 777 at this street.

His steps stopped.

Instead of gently humming air-conditioning, a wave of heat and humidity blanketed his skin. Different from the heat of summer—the discomfort of it was heavy, palpable against his skin. 

It felt like stepping into the maws of something living, and alive, some centuries-old human instinct prickling up his neck, telling him to stay wary of fanged teeth and bloodthirsty appetites in the dark at his back.

Goro blinked. 

This was not—

This was not a 777.

What was around him bewildered the eye. Strange walls, reds pulsing to faint-glowing blues and blacks, as if overgrown with some sluggish, sickly strain of mold. The floor beneath him was the same as the walls. 

The heat again—carried by wind that twisted low to the ground before rising higher, crooning upwards from some unknown depths and bearing whispers, mutterings tinged with skewed notes of despair or malice. It was hard to tell.

The rushing sound of distant trains on tracks—the single tangible reminder of something familiar and real—only added to the eeriness.

Goro turned on his heel, looked towards his back. The left. The right.

The view everywhere was the same. Where was the door he had stepped through?

Goro breathed in, trying not to shudder at the smell of it. Like meat, left out in open air too long, and beginning to rot. Too much damp, too much rust—like opened arteries, like blood.

He opened his eyes. Trains—he remembered, and there were people? 

Yes? No? There were people-shaped things walking on and off them, blank and featureless as a careless smear of ink on paper. 

None of them looked at Goro, or tried to talk to him.

Subway, subway. If this was anything similar to the Tokyo Underground—Goro should map out the terrain at least, if he wanted to leave.

He moved onwards, his pace slow, cautious, keeping his eyes focused for anything that resembled an escalator or an exit. The floor seemed to cling unpleasantly to his shoes as he went, like thick mud. 

A rumble of laughter ahead, a different sound from the whispers that he had only heard so far.

Goro hurried his steps, hoping, hoping that there was someone there he could ask for a way out—

A turn to the right. Goro squinted into the dark corridor.

"A **STRANGER**. A WEAKLING OR ENEMY BE?" 

Okay. 

Well. Shit.

A tall red charger, larger and more looming than any horse that Goro had ever seen in pictures, its movements followed by a heavy tang of glowing embers and charred ash, mingling with the rank musk of a large animal. Astride of it, an armored figure, towering and foreboding, a lance clasped in its gloved gauntlet.

Goro held his breath. 

Maybe that thing hadn't seen him.

The thing turned. Joints of metal scraped against one another as it moved, the breathing of the monster and its steed as loud as a growl in the dark. 

A cold chill slunk down the back of Goro's spine. Its head was facing towards Goro—it was coming closer—

"ART THOU A COWARD? OR A STALWART KNAVE?"

Goro took one step back. 

And another. And another.

The thing laughed again, low and terrible. Light gleamed off the front of its helmet, the point of its lance.

Goro dropped all pretense of dignity, spun on his heels and ran.

_Fuck._

Fuck fuck fuck.

His steps seemed unnaturally loud as he sprinted, the strange texture of the floor making it hard to gain any traction. 

The monster behind him was moving. The sound of metal again, grating against his ears—the echoing thud of hooves as its steed kept moving, and moving, closer and closer— 

Goro flipped through his mind what he had on him—anything in his bag? Pens, some textbooks, a few paper files—useless.

Could he fight? Surprise that thing somehow?

His glance swung wildly from one side of the tunnel to the other. 

Goro stumbled, the skin of his knee screaming when it smashed into the ground.

He let his jaw go slack. It was lucky that he hadn't bitten down on his tongue.

Something stung, sharply, on the back of his right calf, something wet—blood, his brain connected, he was _wounded_ —crawling down to his ankle.

Ignore it. 

_Ignore it._

Goro dug his palms into the ground, dragging himself forward. His blood thudded through his wrists, terror driving an unsteady, lurching rhythm in his chest. 

Air, air. He needed air. 

Goro bit down a yell as he felt something swipe past his left side. It missed, seeming to lodge itself into the ground instead.

Goro rolled to put his back to the wall. His bag, which had flown from his grasp when he fell, he picked up, and held it in front of him like a shield.

No one would be coming to save him, Goro was sure.

Fine.

If had to die fighting this—this monster, at least he would face it while on his feet.

He ignored the slash on his leg—fuck, the pain surprised him—and gritted his teeth. Dug into some stubborn buried source of will inside, and pulled himself up.

Goro bit the side of his cheek, focusing on that instead. Drew back his lips, and bared his teeth. "STAY. BACK. YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" 

The sound of Goro's words echoed, turning hollow and weak as they twisted into the odd corners and turns of the passageway.

The monster tilted its head.

Goro bent his knees, ready to tackle it or run, when the moment was right—

The monster raised its lance—Goro watched the point of it glint in the light—

A different voice slashed into the air—

" _Stand back_!"

Instead of the expected blow, there's a man?—no, a boy—just as tall as Goro was, standing before him.

A head of dark hair, and a long coat to match. His back, straight and tall, set in a fearless stance.

The lance of the armored monster has met some kind of blade—a knife—held up as a block in his defender's right hand. Metal scraped against metal as the knife, impossibly, pushed the lance back—then a flip of his fingers, and a gun replaced the knife in the boy's hand

A click, and a bullet rang out—

The steed that the monster was riding reared back, screamed a challenge even as the armored monster grunted—it must have hit—but it shakes once, as if it was nothing more than the sting of a small insect—

The boy spoke again, his voice ringing with command—"Persona! _Arsène_!" 

The tails of the boy's jacket flared as bright energy zips forward from the being—a Persona?—red as a lick of flame, wings black as the boy's jacket—towards the first one.

The armored man roared at the hit, staggering back—

The boy's mask blazed again with licks of blue flame as he threw out his hand sharply, calling out, "Persona! Kushinada-Hime!" 

Another gesture from the boy, and the air dropped ten, twenty, thirty degrees. Ice shards—where _did_ they come from?—bloomed from the ground like creeping vines, and the armored monster shouted as they lock onto his steed's legs, his limbs—

A sharp crack followed, the ice shattering into fragments—and the monster disappeared from the air into the dark.

The boy turned then. Silence fell onto Goro's ears, as deafening as the quiet after a thunderclap. 

Hair, dark. Eyes, grey. He makes a poetic picture, a penumbral figure shining in the dark, like a crystal set in deep velvet. His white mask brings out the gleam of his eyes, magnetizes Goro's gaze to him. 

He's masked, yes, and oddly dressed, but he looks likely as human as Goro is.

The boy stepped closer to Goro, one red-gloved hand held out towards him, as if to steady him by the shoulder.

"Are you all right?" the boy said. 

"Who are you?" 

A cliche question, yes, but an important one, Goro felt, considering the circumstances.

"I'm—" A noticeable pause, his rescuer's hair falling forward in front of his mask as he tilted his head. "I'm Joker. And you?"

"Akechi," Goro said, and suddenly feels lightheaded, adrenaline releasing its grip on him, and he tilts—

He doesn't hit the ground. Joker's arms have caught him. 

"If you're injured," Joker said, his voice still commanding but with a kinder cadence, "you should take this."

Goro, still leaning on Joker's shoulder—a warm and steady support—held up the bottle to the light, squinting at it. It looked like any other bottle of medicine one could get at a pharmacy—the label on it was in Japanese even.

Goro shrugged, and thumbed off the lid of the medicine, tilting it until a pill fell onto his tongue, and he swallowed. The burning sensation of the wound on his leg stopped a handful of seconds later, though the blood he had felt before had dried unpleasantly on his skin.

Joker watched him as he took the medicine, the shade of his eyes recognizably concerned.

"If you want to get out of here," Joker said, once Goro felt steady enough to stand without tilting over, "follow me."

Goro does.

Joker's back through the blue shadowy walls of—Mementos, Joker had said once, and didn't say anything more—then the walls shift, to a deep red—then—

Goro blinked. 

He's in Shibuya station, in the area closest to the Ginza Line Gate. Joker is nowhere to be seen.

This was their first meeting.

ii.

It takes a while to see Joker again.

Goro goes back to the station whenever he can. Leans unobtrusively against a wall, or paces in idle circles, watching pedestrians come and go. Takes notes of times and days he visits, the different sides of the station entrances that he stands near. 

One week passed into three weeks, to four, to five.

If Joker thinks Goro is the sort to give up this quickly, well—

Not for nothing that Goro has managed to keep his assistant job with Sae at the Public Prosecutor's Office for so long.

Goro had met Prosecutor Sae when he had been out bicycling, two years ago, when he saw her on foot chasing a helmeted rider with a handbag clutched under their elbow, faint shouts and a single police bicycle clattering in their wake. 

Goro had measured the distance of the road they were riding on, took one shortcut and another and had cornered the other rider in an alleyway.

When Sae had showed up minutes after, demanding her snatched handbag from the other bicycler, Goro, who had been close by, pointed out that the bag that the rider was holding looked suspiciously like a fake—the stitching along one side had crooked spacing for one, and the position of the bag's clasp looked slightly off-center—and he wondered aloud if the rider had stashed the real bag in some other hidden location.

After a short search, they recovered her actual bag, which at the time had also contained a USB stick of vital video evidence that Sae needed for the case she was in the middle of investigating. It was a sentimental item besides—the Herz purse had been a gift from her deceased father, when Sae had graduated high school. 

Sae had taken him on as a legal assistant after that as a gamble, which had allowed him to find a livable apartment for himself, and attend a decent mid-tier Tokyo high school—she had even vouched for him on the application paperwork. If Goro hadn't gotten himself involved in the run-in that day, he would have had to give up his stay in Tokyo, his fruitless attempts to see his father, and gone crawling back to the orphanage. 

Goro can't spend all his time waiting around the train entrances of course. He doesn't intend to repay Sae by being remiss with his work.

Goro is clever. Patient. Methodical. He knows how to bide his time. 

It's in the middle of August when he first _feels_ it again.

The same rippling heat over his skin, like tenuous fingers of smoke—

Goro opened his eyes.

_Bingo._

He doesn't run into any other monsters near the entrance, but sees his target instead.

Joker. 

Joker doesn't make any obvious slip of his composure at seeing Goro, but his stance does shift, his eyes seeming to go a little wider. Hard to see for certain though, with the mask shielding him.

"Tell me about this place," Goro had said.

"You shouldn't have come back." Joker had pulled at his gloves at his wrists, glance flickering to the passageway behind him and back to Goro's face.

Goro had stepped forward, right in front of Joker's face. "If you don't tell me," Goro had said, "I'll have no choice but to go in and look myself."

"Wait."

Joker had grabbed onto his arm, holding him in place. 

Goro, who had his face tilted away from Joker's view, had smiled.

Mementos. Shadows. The magical beings Joker had summoned—Personas. 

Those were some of the terms that Joker had tossed out, sketching out the barest details that he thought Goro should know.

"It's dangerous," Joker had said. "You saw how it was with your own eyes."

"But useful," Goro replied, his gaze rising to meet Joker's, levers turning and shifting in his mind, bolts sliding soundlessly away from a door. A shadow-self in an area representing the collective unconscious—could Shadows lie? They didn't seem able to, according to Joker— 

Ah, yes. Another thing of interest.

The words "The Phantom Thieves" never passed Joker's lips, but come now. Goro knew how to put the pieces together. 

A Phantom Thief. Phantom Thieves, plural. Joker had to be one of them. The leader, perhaps—there was a calm, steely quality in his eyes, a cool ease in his movements that whispered of it. 

At the moment, the Phantom Thieves were more of a headache for the police department instead of the Prosecutor's Office, and to be honest—they intrigued him. Goro had no need to be hostile towards Joker yet—Joker had saved him. 

And Goro—Goro must have been able to enter Mementos, this strange world, for a reason. 

"Let's make a deal," Goro had said, after Joker had stopped speaking, when the silence between them had taken on an expectant edge.

Joker had straightened back his shoulders at Goro's words, something moving behind his eyes like a lightning flash. "What sort of deal?"

"Information for information," Goro said, taking one step, and another, and another closer to Joker, a half-circle arc that brought him into Joker's full view. "I wish to know more about Mementos—you know the paths here, and how to keep me safe from harm. In return—some of these Shadows that you say you look for, the ones you track down as a service for the community—I may possess a little information about them on occasion that should interest you. Do we have a deal?"

"It's a deal," Joker echoed, voice low and careful as he clasped his red glove around Goro's black one.

Though reluctant at first, Joker nevertheless later showed Goro how to use a model gun in the Metaverse, lent to him from Joker's hand. A few healing items also, and their uses.

One would think that Goro would have better sense than to throw himself into a fight with another Shadow after his first encounter. But. Well.

This was now his third—his fourth?—rendezvous with Joker. Summer nearly slipping into fall, the golden light of day taking on a more ochre hue.

The area of Mementos they had explored—Joker descending the stairs in the front, Goro a step behind him—had shone a dull green through the walls and floors, twists of creeping algae in a stagnant pond.

The Shadow they had run into had towered over Joker and Goro both, its voice made of nothing more than hair-raising growls. Something that looked like an oni, wielding an iron club nearly as long as Joker was tall.

It wasn't the club that had taken out Goro.

Goro, who had watched for Joker's signal after his attacks with Queen Mab, had raised his gun to train on the Shadow's hand holding the club—

The ground under Goro had crackled ominously then, shards of what looked like glass—ice—reaching up for him, and—

Joker had jumped forward, a hand sweeping out as he called out some attack—Queen Mab answered, sending forwards a snarling rush of flame—

Goro's skin was tingling now. 

The Shadow was gone. 

Goro could feel himself shaking. It was like pins and needles magnified a hundred times, but the needles were trying to _get out_.

The human body begins to experience hypothermia when the core temperature reaches 32 degrees Celsius, Goro remembered, the thought oddly distant, like a weak sunbeam swallowed up in deep water.

"Hold on. _Hold on_." That was Joker's voice. Joker's face in front of his.

Goro tried to crack open his lips to speak, but lost his words the moment air rushed into his lungs again.

Joker was trying to place something into Goro's hands, Goro could see, dimly as if from behind mist. 

Goro shook, and the object dropped. Joker picked it up again, and pulled off Goro's gloves gently before sliding the thing into Goro's hands. Goro couldn't seem to stop himself from shaking—shuddering in fierce, unrelenting waves, still unable to rid himself of the cold that had burned its memory into every cell of his skin. 

Then—pressure against his knuckles, a palpable anchor. Heat between his palms.

"Ah," Goro exhaled, and gasped as feeling rushed back in down his back, his legs, his fingers, like a slow-moving punch of sensation throughout his entire body. 

Goro gasped a second time, the wave of pain that followed the warmth leaving him reeling, his mind screaming at him to do nothing more but to collapse to the ground. 

"Sorry," Joker murmured, one of his hands moving to Goro's elbow, bracing him upright for a moment. Goro was still shivering so hard that he was nearly leaning his whole weight against Joker's chest. "It's the Hand Warmalizer, to get rid of the Freeze effect. It's the easiest way. but it'll still hurt. I should know."

"Is-is that right?" Goro had inhaled, exhaled, more slowly this time, his fingers flexing a little over the Hand Warmalizer. "Looks like Joker-senpai still has a long way to go with his bedside manner to become a truly irreproachable leader."

Joker laughed, though it's a pale shade of his usual one in battle, the one that was bold and elated and sharp as one of the blades he wielded. 

"If anyone is to be called senpai here, I believe it would be you. You're older than me by a year, after all." Joker's voice is slightly distracted, his eyes flickering towards the tips of Goro's fingers, Goro's mouth. Perhaps checking on the color of them.

Goro doesn't comment on it, but stores it quietly away as information. He had guessed it from the costume, and his height, and his overall bearing. 

His instincts were right. Joker was a student, still, like he was. 

It wasn't extremely helpful information, if he was being honest. How many schools were there, and how many students in Tokyo?

Goro's fingers trembled, an involuntary motion. 

He was aware suddenly, that Joker's hands—hands without his gloves, his fingers pale and elegant—were wrapped around his own.

"Akechi. Look at me, please."

Joker's eyes were intent, intense—silver in a furnace—and now looking right at him, as if mapping out the contours of every dip and slope of Goro's face.

The feeling of it, somehow, seemed like—an indulgence.

"Goro," Goro's mouth said, not entirely with his permission. He would say the cold had dulled his wits, but his blood was pounding normally through his body now, all feeling returned to his face and limbs and skin.

"Hm?" 

"You can use my name."

"Goro," Joker said, the name pleasingly resonant in his voice. "Are you still cold?"

Joker's breath almost brushed against Goro's lips as the question left his mouth. Goro wanted—ah, he wanted more from him. 

"Mm. Not sure." Goro slid his left hand from beneath Joker's grip, reached up to ghost his fingertips over the pointed flap of Joker's jacket collar. "Why don't you tell me?"

Silence, for one heartbeat, two, as Joker studied him with an unreadable gaze.

Goro huffed out a breath, and his fingers yanked, just a little, on the edge of Joker's lapel.

It was enough.

Whether it was a careless fall or a controlled drop—Goro pulled, Joker tilted forward, and their lips met.

Joker was kissing him.

_Joker was kissing him._

It was a thrill, like the curl of satisfaction in his smile after a perfectly aimed shot at a Shadow, or the feeling of standing too close to the edge of some tracks, the wind in the wake of the passing train stirring up his hair and his heartbeat.

One of Goro's hands was wrinkling Joker's jacket—though in the Metaverse, he expected it to remain flawless and unwrinkled as always if Joker pulled away from him. Goro's other hand had snaked up to curl into Joker's left shoulder.

Warmth, and breath, and life. Goro's blood was pounding faster through his body now.

Joker himself had his hands braced against both sides of the wall behind Goro's head, caging in Goro. His lips were soft, Goro noted, those lips that curved so easily into a suave smirk now pressed to Goro's mouth.

Something in the way Joker was kissing him seemed gentler than Goro would have expected. But, perhaps, perhaps—

Goro bit down, nipping Joker's bottom lip experimentally, his hands pulling Joker even closer as he did so.

Joker made a sound, hungry and eager, and responded, pressing in so close that his mask nearly seemed to be in danger of leaving an impression into Goro's face.

The kiss deepened, became greedier. More intoxicating. Goro hooked one hand behind Joker's neck, the other running downwards to trace the hem of Joker's silky grey shirt beneath his jacket. Joker's grip tightened on him, shoving Goro's back harder against the wall, his hands a half-thought away from lifting Goro up from the ground entirely.

All Goro could feel was Joker's presence, the heat of his chest, heartbeat to heartbeat with Goro's, the electric restlessness of their movements against each other.

Goro pulled away first, partly for air, and partly to see Joker's expression. 

Joker was watching him from beneath his lashes, and even masked, Goro could see a dazed look in his eyes, as if Goro had knocked him down instead of kissed him.

"Joker," Goro said, voice rough, his pulse thumping from his throat to his fingers. "I gave you my name. Won't you tell me yours?"

Joker leaned forward, close enough that Goro thought Joker was going to kiss him again. "Goro—," Joker said, puffs of his breath just skimming over the corner of Goro's mouth, " _No_."

It's almost instinctive—Goro bucked his hips, once, twice, thrice, over Joker's thigh between his legs, and comes. His whole body shudders at the sensation, though this time from pleasure, fire instead of frost.

He feels his limbs go lax, though his fingers are still clenched tightly around Joker's coat.

Joker is still holding him up. His hair is sticking to the front of his forehead, as if from sweat or the damp, a provoking shade of red on his lips and the high arcs of his cheekbones.

"'No'? Don't you trust me, Joker?" Goro said, the syllables nearly plaintive. He cants his head, shoots a glance upwards from beneath his lashes. His entire body is still leaning on Joker, his legs barely feeling capable of standing. 

"Should I?" Joker replied, his grey eyes flitting once to Goro's mouth and back up to Goro's eyes again. 

"If you don't," Goro said, "I could take it as a challenge. Try to find out who you are without your mask. If I find your name—you could stay with me, out there. Outside of all this."

"Is that right?" Joker's glance is amused, with a surprising tint of affection. "How would you find out?"

If he had the energy, Goro wanted to reach up a hand, tug down Joker to kiss him again. 

"I could follow you after we both leave here," Goro said. "See if your evasion skills out there match up to your skills here."

Joker's face pulled into a frown, seemingly more from indignation at Goro's implications than his statement itself. "You might be surprised."

The sound of something heavy, a slow stalking of footsteps, audibly echoed down the dark to their ears. 

"We should leave, Goro," Joker said. "And—sorry about this."

Goro opened his mouth to ask why—just to see Joker spray something at him.

When Goro wakes, it's to find himself in Inokashira Park on a bench, his jacket pulled over him as a blanket. Upon opening his phone, he had a text from an unknown number.

 **Joker:** ' _I'm busy for the next week. Please wait for my return before heading off there on your own._ '

So. Joker liked him enough to leave him a number, but not so much as to trust him.

Well. Goro always did appreciate a challenge.

iii.  
The second time they had an encounter—

No, no that wasn't right. It had to have been their sixth or seventh meeting at least—but as an encounter—a tryst? a rendezvous?—it was their second.

Anyways. 

Joker's eyes were burning—furious, Goro observed, with fascination, for someone who was usually the model of cool composure.

"I'm sorry," Goro said, not entirely meaning the words.

Joker looked at him.

"Oh please," Goro said, crossing his arms, leaning further back against his seat in the rest-stop. "That Shadow only needed one last blow to finish it off, and I was in the perfect position to do so."

Joker still looked at him. Still standing one, two, three arms-length away, hands in pockets.

True, Goro had been in some danger, when the Ippon-Datara had aimed for him. Goro had finished his last attack with a close-up punch, though the Shadow's hammer had arced through the air the merest breath away from his jaw and his left shoulder, hissing as it failed to land on its target. 

Third time's the charm, wasn't it?

"I beg your pardon, Joker." Goro inclined his head, allowed a little contrition to color his tone. "I had made a judgment call, but it was remiss of me to ignore your orders. It won't happen again." 

"I did order you to stick to long-range attacks. Let me see," Joker had said, closing in the distance between them with long strides.

"It takes more pressure than that to break me," Goro had said, nonetheless tilting up his chin towards Joker's open palm. He stood, unmoving, even as Joker's thumb tipped it upwards, shifted Goro's face from side to side, left to right. 

Joker didn't say anything else as he looked at Goro. That must have meant—no markings. No cuts. 

Goro was glad. It would be hard to explain such injuries at school or the office the next day—though he could always ask Joker for a healing salve or patch if he was especially worried.

Joker released a breath. The touch of his glove against the skin of Goro's face was—nice.

"I would ask you not to do repeat performance," Joker said, quiet, "but I'm not certain if you would listen."

"Depends on who's asking," Goro said. "Such a serious face you are wearing right now, Joker—a penny for your thoughts?"

When Joker had stalked towards the downed Shadow, the set of his face fierce and unrelenting, Goro had watched him—the steel in his voice, the steel in his eyes.

Watched him and couldn't look away.

The look in Joker's eyes now was just as magnetic. The press of Joker's thumb on Goro's chin slid—moved somewhere in the vicinity of the corner of Goro's mouth.

"Only for a penny?" Joker's mouth curled, feline-like. "I don't think so." 

"Well," Goro said, and lets himself lean forward, _just so_ , the upper half of his shoulders, his chest, pressing against Joker's, a half-goad, half-dare. "How about a kiss?"

Goro watched Joker's throat move as he swallowed. "Goro," Joker said, his fingertips pressing down even harder on the skin of Goro's face.

The thought of Joker, cool, controlled Joker, being thrown off-balance by Goro's closeness pleased him. 

"Come now, _Joker_ ," Goro said, a smoky plume of a snarl curling into his voice, "if you can't make up your mind about something so simple, we might as well leave before other dangers show—"

Goro breathed in sharply, his words slipping into Joker's mouth instead of the open air.

Joker's kiss had a hint of teeth this time. His movements were more restless too, one of his hands drifting up to trace the line of Goro's shirt collar, where it hugged his neck.

Joker moved his lips down to mouth over Goro's jugular at the left side, a scrape of tongue and teeth, heated intent. Goro made a noise at that, something greedy and electric.

When Joker pulled away, just for an inch or two, Goro wanted to yank him back, hold him there so Joker could go no farther from him.

" _What_ —," Joker sounded winded, his words uncharacteristically clumsy as Goro's fingers tangled in his hair, tugged once, twice—"what do you want, Goro?"

"Do you ask this—ah—" Goro heaved a breath, one of his hand sliding down Joker's neck to curl tightly around the fabric of Joker's jacket, "do you ask this of everyone you do battle with? With anyone else special in that Phantom Thieves group of yours?"

"No," Joker rasped, his hair already a mess from Goro's fingers. "No. Just you."

A squeeze of satisfaction, somewhere in Goro's chest.

A flash of red, again. Joker's glove, in Goro's field of vision, fingers curled together as a fist against the backseat of Goro's chair—

"If you don't want this to go any further—" Joker said. 

Goro picked up Joker's hand, his lips hovering over the pale skin at Joker's wrist between his glove and his sleeve.

"Your hand—" Goro murmured, pressing his lips to Joker's wrist for half a heartbeat, "but the gloves should stay."

Joker dipped his head, his eyes wide and dark, and very, very focused.

His hand skimmed down the line of Goro's jacket, helped him push the rest of it off. Slid downwards, and stopped to hover over Goro's hip. 

Goro made an impatient sound, his hand reaching out to grab Joker's hand towards the the buttons of his slacks. Fabric lowered, was unzipped and tugged down. 

Joker's fingers then, curling around Goro's cock. Unlike his usual carefree grace, Joker seemed to fumble a little at first, his movements slow. 

Goro tipped his head up, nipped the side of Joker's jaw. Joker returned the challenge, kissing him again, pressing him deeper into the seat. 

Joker picked up his speed—found his rhythm, one long stroke after another.

"Tell me your name," Goro asked again, a second, two seconds away from—close. So _close_. Sleek leather, and the heat of Joker's palm, and nearly every other part of Joker pressed against him—

Joker stopped.

Goro just barely choked off a whine before it could leave his lips.

"Are you sure you wish to know?" Joker said.

Goro summoned every drop of self-control he had to stop his limbs from trembling, from slanting towards Joker's direction.

"Why else would I _ask_ —!" Joker's thumb swept up his length to his hilt, a quick, unconscious movement, but the rest of his fingers remained cruelly still. Goro shuddered, trying, futilely, to get more of that sensation, but Joker has pulled away— "No. Don't—don't leave me like this. _Joker_."

Joker obliged.

With one last shout, Goro couldn't stop his head from jerking back, his eyes closing as he saw stars.

When Goro had caught his breath, his eyes opening, Joker had leaned forward, his forehead ending up resting against Goro's shoulder.

"Sorry, Goro," he said. "I know you want to know—but I can't kiss and tell. Not that I don't want to—just. Not now." 

The next few minutes consisted of Joker cleaning them up and Goro rearranging his clothes until he was properly presentable again. Though the thought of Joker looking at his gloves the next time he was here, Goro thought, and remembering what they had done—it hummed possessively in a corner of his mind.

At the entrance of Mementos, Joker tucked his hands into his pockets and said, "You know your way from here, I think."

"I'll see you soon?" Goro said, aiming for a casual tone.

Joker had only smiled. "Soon." 

Smoke blossomed into the air, and when Goro could see again, Joker was gone. 

Goro was near the bench of a train station, close to the Yon Germain Bakery.

If he had any aggravating dreams that night, of grey eyes and dark curls, red leather brushing sparks down his skin, he certainly wouldn't admit it to anyone in the morning.

iv.

It was more than halfway through November.

Goro adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, glad that he had remembered his scarf—the cold had a bite to it that promised a later chill. Joker had texted him a location, a date and a time. 

So here Goro was.

Goro had thought briefly once, of tracing back the number to Joker's phone—but IT tracking wasn't one of Goro's areas of expertise. Joker was good at slipping the leash, besides. 

Who was to say he wouldn't just disappear into thin air even if Goro cornered him?

What if he simply left, and—never came back to see Goro again? 

If Joker did though—Goro could chase him. Would chase him. Was Goro's will any less of a match for Joker's, even without a magical personification of his true self, even without Joker's dagger-strike of a smile?

A streetlamp buzzed faintly, as Goro's glance flickered to it. Some birds perched above on a wire flew, leaving the electric wire faintly swaying in their wake.

A hand around Goro's wrist, the touch of it light and playful.

Goro found himself spun around.

There was Joker, his grin warm and pleased as Goro met his eyes.

They weren't standing in the city anymore. 

Instead, the first thing that caught his eye was the ocean by the coast, the waters shimmering with a pearly luster. Next, the hills around them—soft, curving strokes as fluid as the crest of waves, lushly green and dappled with flowers in white, gold, and lilac. 

It looked like the very picture of a place Goro had seen on TV before, on one of those pleasantly soothing travel-type shows. The one famous for its mountainous flowers—its name eluded him.

"Who are we fighting today?" Goro said. He doesn't pull his arm away from Joker. Allowed himself to walk besides Joker in fact, along a path that was heading towards a small inlet where the water whispered against the sand.

"Ah," Joker said, and pulled lightly at his hair in front of his eyes. "Not fighting as such. More...reconnaissance?" 

"That sounds like something you would prefer to do on your own, or with any of your other Thieves." Goro shifted on his heels, nearly walking backwards as he angled his body to keep his face turned towards Joker. 

Joker's smile widened. "Actually, to tell the truth, I just needed a break."

"You brought me here with you for a break?"

"Is it that strange, if I wanted to see you?"

"This better be worth my time," Goro said, not struggling at all to keep his expression indifferent after Joker's words.

Joker blinked his eyes at Goro, the look startlingly close to something coy. "It will be. Turn around for a second," Joker said. 

An unexpected move. How like Joker. 

Goro does. 

He doesn't move to see what Joker is doing until Joker calls his name. 

What Goro does see when he spins on his heels again is a deep blue cloth, spread over a patch of grass. Boxes sit above it, along with a thermos and what looks like a few bottles of tea or juice. 

Joker slid then into a sitting position, his coat flaring out to settle behind him as he did so.

Goro sat down next to him, crossing his legs. 

Joker reached for a nearby box and flipped it open, pulling out—

Fruit first—bright satsuma oranges, and Kyoho grapes, bunched together in clusters of large dark pearls. Then a serving of dango from another box, sandwiches from the larger box beneath it. Pastries too—a couple of soft rolls with savory fillings, a handful of chestnut tarts, delicate-looking entremets that smelled of caramel and hazelnut, danishes with slices of apricots fanned out over its top.

"A picnic?"

"Mm-hm."

"Here?" Goro thought it was part of Mementos at first. It had the same feeling—but the scenery was different.

"Yeah." Joker spun a knife—smaller than his usual dagger of choice—and pared away the skin of the satsuma orange in one perfect spiral, before offering it in his palm towards Goro. "Would you like some?"

It hits Goro then, stark like a cold splash of water in the morning. 

"This isn't just a break for you, is it?" Goro said, 

"What did you think it was?"

"A date," Goro said. A direct strike was sometimes best.

Joker just nodded. 

"Joker," Goro had said, propping his chin in his hand, "are you secretly at heart a romantic?"

"Does it displease you?" Joker flitted his eyes up from the spread on the cloth to Goro's face. Eyes cool, unflustered. "If I set out to do something, I don't plan to do it halfheartedly." 

"I don't mind," Goro said, and reached out for the satsuma slices off Joker's hand.

"If this is not connected to Mementos," Goro said, some time later, staring at the waves, which had taken on a glassy gilt of frost, and the flowers around them, which had secluded themselves from the air, petals folding in on themselves as they curled back to the earth like a timelapse video in reverse, "then where exactly are we?"

"A Palace," Joker said. "It usually springs from a distortion of the human heart—but not all distortions are evil in intent."

"Oh? What flaw of the human heart does this one stem from?"

Joker tilted his head, now looking eye-to-eye with Goro. "Longing, maybe," he said, "for escape."

Goro sipped at a cup of coffee, the flavor rich and faintly sweet in his mouth, as Joker continued to elaborate on the owner of the Palace—a botanist in training, who had been called back to the city for family obligations, who missed the floral landscape of her previous research outpost. There weren't any Shadows down near this part of the beach at all—most of the ones Joker had seen before were near the northern part of the Palace, close to a high mountain about three peaks away.

"And you don't need to—ah, how does that phrase of yours go—'steal her heart'?"

Joker shook his head. "We only make a move if we see a need—and this distortion is not necessarily something that needs a confession. If all goes smoothly—the Palace should disappear by next week. The botanist has plans to lead an educational trip on another island soon before the winter with a university group from Waseda, I believe."

Most of the picnic has been finished off between them by now, and the space on the picnic cloth under them was clear. Goro allowed himself to lie back on the fabric and glance up leftwards, watching the salt air whisper through Joker's curls, Joker's eyes beneath them half-lidded like a leopard in repose, lazy and satiated.

Joker lifted his gaze and held up his hand, a phone cradled in his palm. "Want to take a picture?"

"Of me?"

"Me and you."

"What for?"

Joker shrugged. "So I can remember this." 

"I wouldn't think any phone signals would be able to reach the depths of someone's distorted cognition."

"Still worth a shot, wouldn't you say?" Joker's lips curved, something irresistibly persuasive in it. 

Goro closed his eyes once, and opened them, still seeing Joker's smile in front of him. "Fine. Only because you asked."

He sat up, and scooted closer to Joker. 

Joker held up his phone, framing both their faces in it. A resounding click, as he took the shot.

Joker pulled down his arm, his thumb moving over the screen. Looked up, his smile bright. "Thanks Goro."

Joker's phone. Something in Goro's mind turned. His phone would have—other photos. His contacts. His name—

"Let me see," Goro said, sneaking a hand towards Joker's right hand. 

Joker tossed his phone behind his back to catch it in his left one, keeping it further away from Goro's reach, smirking as he did so. "No." 

Joker was still sitting down. Too slow to move—his mistake.

Goro lunged.

" _Goro_ —!"

Joker hit the ground, a soft 'oof' leaving his lips. His arms were outstretched, his phone having slipped out of his grasp to the edge of the picnic cloth.

Goro had ended up on top of him, legs straddling Joker's waist, knees pressed to the ground.

"You haven't given up on finding it out, hmm?" Joker said, his eyes flashing. He didn't sound disappointed—instead, it was almost—

"Did you think I would?" Goro said, looking down at Joker, the phone entirely forgotten. Something frantic, on the edge of vicious, pounded up his lungs, through his throat. "You always seem so free, nearly hallowed, always dancing provokingly out of reach—if I cut you here, with your own knife—" the pad of his thumb curved from a point of Joker's neck, drawing across the exposed open skin of his throat "—would you even bleed?"

Joker's breathing seemed to stop. Every atom of his stare tugged, like smoke pulled by wind, to scrutinize Goro's face. 

Joker reached up. Tipped Goro's chin forward, his movements slow. 

"I can think of other things," Joker said softly, his thumb sweeping over Goro's bottom lip, "that I would prefer to have at my neck."

Goro wanted Joker to react, to do something. 

So Goro moved first.

He bit down lightly on Joker's finger near his lips, and tugged upwards, peeling Joker's glove away from his hand. Opened his mouth—the glove fluttered to rest above Goro's right thigh, a possessive splash of rose-red. 

Joker's eyes below him, watching, had darkened. But frustratingly, he still did not move.

Goro shifted, rolled his hips a little and ah—there—Joker's breath had skipped, coiling into a sharp inhale. 

Goro moved forward, seeing Joker's lips part as he did so. Changed direction at the last inch before Joker's lips to bend close to Joker's ears. "Come now, Joker—are you just going to let me do _everything_ my way?"

Goro's world tilted.

Joker had grabbed for Goro's waist, and rolled, quick as a card flip. When they landed, one of Joker's hands had snaked behind the back of Goro's neck, cushioning it from the ground. 

How thoughtful. 

How _sweet_.

"No," Joker said, voice deep and delightfully distracted. Now he was the one sitting on top of Goro. He leaned closer, whispering in the same manner as Goro did—"Not everything."

Goro smirked, and surged upwards, kissing him the way one would throw a gauntlet. Like oil to fire.

Joker made a noise—pushed him down, both of his hands moving to brace himself above Goro for better control. 

Everything still ran electric—Joker's nimble fingers at Goro's buttons, the hungry sound that slipped from Joker's mouth as Goro tasted the skin of his throat, another kiss from Joker that pulled up Goro's pulse, a flavoring of hazelnut and fruit from Joker's tongue—

"If you don't tell me your name," Goro said, his legs shifting apart as Joker allowed Goro's hands to pull him down, waist to waist, hip to hip, "how else should I know what to call you when we—?"

"I can't. I—" A more choked off sound from Joker followed as Goro managed to wriggle his hand between them, began unbuttoning his own slacks, pulling them lower—and even more—. "Ah—Goro—are you sur—?" 

"You may not trust me," Goro said, "but is fucking me really such a burden?"

"No. I wouldn't—I would never think of any time with you that way," Joker said, sharp and immediate, an unstudied, unconscious reflex. He looked at Goro's face, something more hesitant then passing over his features. Made a motion as if to draw away "But perhaps—perhaps we shouldn't do this today," he murmured.

Goro bent his arms, reached back to clasp his hands around Joker's wrists by his head like shackles—not ones forged with the cold bite of metal but warm flesh and blood.

"Joker," he said, impatience sharpening his voice to the keen edge of a blade, "don't you _dare_ stop what you started."

"Goro—" Joker was very still, the length of his dark jacket draping over the space of their bodies like a curtain, "if you want to keep going—"

"Yes—" Goro nearly hissed the word, his spine arching as all he could feel was Joker's restless movements after Goro's reply, feel the rapid pace of Joker's pulse beneath his fingers—"how many times should I say it, do you want me to _beg_ you—"

Just a heartbeat of hesitation, where Joker pulled back from Goro, and fumbled in his pocket for a small bottle, narrowing his eyes at the writing on the label before handing it over. 

Goro would find it difficult to admit openly that he was inexperienced—but inexperience didn't mean absolute ignorance. He knew some things, had done his own share of experiments alone behind a locked door.

First things first. Some of their clothes other than the fabric Goro had already removed were in the way—undoing them was but a mere matter of seconds—mainly shoes and Joker's pants. Goro didn't mess with their shirts much, only unbuttoned his own, leaving Joker's shirt and jacket untouched. 

It took another minute or two for Goro to open the bottle and use it, his own ragged breath and eagerness not helping the motion of his fingers—

Joker watched him all the while, as if his eyes were hungry to capture every single detail and press it into his memory, the force of his gaze a heady thing for Goro—

Goro curled in his fingers deeper and gasped out, "One more thing—"

"Yes?" Joker said, the syllable aslant, "Tell me—"

"Could you— _ngh_ —take off your mask—before you—?"

Joker's hand went up to trace the underside rim of his mask. "All right. If you close your eyes, Goro. Promise?"

"Yes." 

Goro closed his eyes. His hands were still against his sides. 

He couldn't see, but he could feel Joker there. 

Then a brush of something light and curved over his left hand, the shape of it tapering off from end to end like two wings—it must have been Joker's mask. It ran down from Goro's knuckles to his fingertips, before it fell to the ground beyond Goro's reach. 

And Joker moved with him, his first thrusts slow, and _maddening_ —Goro snapped his hips upwards, locking his heels around Joker's legs, both his hands tugging down Joker's hair with an edge of harshness—

Joker quickened the pace in response to Goro's wordless demands, and the kiss between them turned searing— 

The pressure and heat almost taunted them—building more, and more, but not enough, their movements growing feverish as Goro thought about nothing but what he was feeling, nothing but Joker's skin and weight against him, the embarrassing noises he made that Joker caught into his own mouth, the brush of Joker's lashes and curls of his hair against Goro's cheek— 

Both of them were at the brink—Joker moved once more, sweet and sharp with a graceless cry, almost collapsing on Goro before he caught himself on his elbows—

And Joker helped him to the finish, Goro shuddering as the wave of sensation carried him away, the aftermath of a storm wiping away everything but pleasure through his every cell. 

Time snapped back. Their breaths came out choppy, uneven as Goro opened his eyes once more, and they looked at each other.

Goro's hair felt damp with sweat. Every inch of his skin still ran hot—the blood close to the surface, or perhaps drawn up too often by Joker's lips, every cell in him eager to push as close as possible to meet the heat of Joker's mouth, the pressure of Joker's touch.

Joker was looking at him, his mask affixed back on his face. "That was all right?" He ran a hand along Goro's jaw, the gesture of it somehow tender.

Ah, this was bad. Goro already wanted to touch Joker again.

He exhaled instead, a fingernail reaching out to drag invisible lines down the cloth beneath him. "Yes," he croaked out, not feeling up to saying more. 

Joker rolled over to sit up, rearranging his clothes as he did so. His mask was even tilted slightly askew. Goro felt a pleased little purr in his chest at that. 

A handkerchief had appeared between Joker's fingers, likely pulled from his jacket's front pocket. "Should I—?" he said, tipping his head at Goro. Goro nodded.

After the both of them had cleaned themselves, and Joker had found his one missing red glove and bundled up the supplies he had brought, the two of them stood there.

Goro stayed quiet. 

Was he supposed to say something else? What was there to say?

"I don't know when I can see you again," Joker said. "But I'll find you when I can." 

"Am I supposed to just take you at your word?" Goro said, a touch of a bite to it. He was looking at a dark bruise under the right side of Joker's jaw, where Goro may have nipped him a little too harshly.

Joker just smiled. Softer this time.

He reached out, the motion easy and casual and picked up Goro's left hand.

He bent down his head. Dropped a kiss on the center of Goro's gloved palm. 

Goro curled in his fingers. 

"If you were the one to find me," Joker said, his stare soft, his voice unbearably sincere, "I don't think I would be so quick to run."

Joker looked up at him from under his mask, under his dark lashes, and murmured something—" _Goodbye_ "—Goro thought he heard.

The familiar feeling of the two of them exiting the Metaverse met him—reality rushing over Goro, the smell of passing perfumes and car-smoke, the metallic tinge of Tokyo air, the sight of shifting faces in a crowd like tiny pebbles carried along in a river current.

Goro kept his hands close to his sides, curling them under his elbows. He wasn't afraid of what they might do if they saw Joker's back, drawing further away down a street, further away from him. 

If he had spent an extra minute looking for a trace of Joker's silhouette to the left and the right—well, Goro has never claimed honesty as one of his virtues, even with himself.   
  


v.

A tumult of new events sweeping across Tokyo—more scatterings of scandals, new cases in the office, the circles of Sae's eyes getting darker, and Goro more irritated at the incompetence of the supervisors above her as elections got closer—all of it kept Goro busy as the first breath of winter stalked the air, whisperings of frost and cold carried on the wind under his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Something hot to hold in his hands would be nice right now.

The ringing of a bell, and the crunching of footsteps over the thin veil of ice on the sidewalk drifted to Goro's ears.

He turned his head. Saw a boy in a school uniform—Shujin, Goro noted.

Goro would have moved on but—

Something about that height—the hair of curls—

The boy—he wore glasses, Goro saw—was adjusting a signboard outside of the shop. Goro shifted his glance—'Leblanc' was engraved above the door.

"Could I help you?" the boy said.

Goro lifted his head. Something rippled across the boy's face.

How odd. There, on the right side beneath the boy's jaw was a faint mark—a faded yellow color. It looked familiar.

Goro's instincts told him to keep on walking. 

He just shook his head at the boy, and ducked around a corner into a gap between the shop and a neighboring fence. When Goro leaned over slightly, he could still see the back of the boy, a sliver of the door of the shop.

"Come on~" a voice yowled, somewhere from ankle-level. A cat? Yes—dark ears, a white-tipped tail, a feline face that seemed to amazingly enough, frown in annoyance—"Just because you're moping about not seeing your detective boyfriend for over a week isn't any excuse to stand around daydreaming and letting the heat out."

"Not a detective," the boy huffed.

The cat seemed to roll its eyes. "Your lawyer boyfriend then."

"He's not—you need to take an exam to be a lawyer, Mona—"

The boy tugged at the apron strings around his waist, and withdrew back inside the shop.

Goro wanted to laugh.

Goro wanted to step closer, and touch him.

_"If you were the one to find me, I don't think I would be so quick to run."_

Goro's hand had already landed on the doorknob of Leblanc without conscious thought. He pushed open the door, and heard the bell ring a second time, thinking already, of what he wanted to say when he sees him.

**Author's Note:**

> +it was Trip trying to write these characters because:  
>  **Me:** Listen to me. Joker, you have one job in this fic—  
>  **Akiren:** date goro.  
>  **Me:** No.  
>  **Akiren:** give goro nice things  
>  **Me:** I mean sure, if you want since you guys are going to make out but—  
>  **Akiren:** date goro AND give him nice things???  
>  **Me:** please. Be cool, i'm begging you. 
> 
> meanwhile, Akechi Goro thoughts  
>  **Step 1:** seduce joker for information  
>  **Step 2:** ????  
>  **Step 3:** Fall in love with him  
>  **Step 4:** Fall in love with him??? *shocked pikachu face*
> 
> +it vaguely dawned on me that writing a fic with E content in it after kinktober was like a beginning-level juggler showing up on stage after the whole cirque du soilel rolled through town...oh well...  
> +see also a picture of me, desperately dumping in another two buckets of chili pepper into the curry of fic: is this SPICY ENOUGH YET???  
> morgana: it still tastes like sweet curry to me 
> 
> other fic notes  
> +title was generally inspired [by cupid and psyche](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cupid_and_Psyche#Story)  
> psyche was like the Most Beautiful girl of the age so that the goddess Venus supposedly got jealous and psyche's husband was prophesized Not to be a regular human man but a flying serpent with wings...who actually was handsome cupid in disguise. so they married, lived in a magic castle, yada yada, she banged him in the dark without knowing what his face looked like and almost killed him once with a knife due to misleading gossip and saw his face by candlelight, circumstances separated them and there was a whole big quest before they could be reunited
> 
> +it might be hard to tell but whew, writing this took...a while...until i got to just thinking about it as choreography then it got a lot easier
> 
> +in this canon divergence au fic, akechi goro's job is more like a legal assistant/prosecutor's secretary, or something in the general role similar to maya fey in the ace attorney series
> 
> +akechi goro used a bunch of his meagre savings to get to tokyo to try to find his father at the age of 14, but shido refuses to meet him; he runs into sae instead
> 
> +joker keeps taking akechi goro into mementos because he thinks goro can awaken a persona; he's right, but they do spend too much time making out for goro to get around to it :'')
> 
> +joker is also just spending time with goro one-on-one because in-game he has gone to mementos with just 1 or 2 people before without mona there
> 
> +akechi goro doesn't use a code name because they're generally in mementos where everybody is there instead of people's individual Palaces, so yolo
> 
> +the setting of the Palace they have a date in draws inspiration from the Rishiri-Rebun-Sarobetsu National Park, specifically [Rebun Island](https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e6877.html)
> 
> +you can come find me on my [tumblr](https://qserasera.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/mallory_madder)


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